Recollections of Aunt Ammy: Journey to Tarsis
by The Grey Piper
Summary: Mistress Ammy Allen, shopkeeper and merchant of Solace, travels to trade center Tarsis with a party of friends. Although Krynn is mostly peaceful in this brief time between the War of the Lance and the Chaos War, there is still adventure and danger afoot!


RECOLLECTIONS OF AUNT AMMY

Part One: Travelling to Tarsis

Sunset brought no palette of color to the sky in this valley, only lengthening shadows and the hope of relief from an unseasonably hot day of late spring. A nameless and nondescript hill slowly eclipsed the indifferent sun, a hill distinguished from unnumbered others in this valley only by the dirt road rounding its base. The road, just adequately maintained, was interrupted here by a wooden bridge, likewise just adequately maintained. Beneath, a small river flowed through a shallow but steep gorge. Many leagues downstream, this river joined a slightly larger flow, which in turn was subsumed into the White Rage River before finding the sea. Here, though, the water was as nameless and nondescript as the surrounding hills. An eroded hollow just deep enough to be called a cave sunk into the muddy stone near the bridge's wooden supports on the east bank of the river.

Within the cave, jaundice-yellow eyes opened wide, stared out into the dimming day. The creature behind the eyes did not awaken as much arouse from a sullen torpor, vaguely aware of the lengthening shadows in the valley. And something else. Rubbery ears twitched. Noises. Voices. Travelers on the road above, about to cross the bridge. To the creature, that meant two things--feeding and looting.

--

Four days prior, Ammy Allen, shopkeeper and merchant in the town of Solace, had entered the Old Blacksmith Inn in Solace Newtown. She cheerily greeted her friends and customers within, then sat down at a small table by a window, across from a man with flowing mustaches. For the benefit of the few who might not have recognized that luxuriant growth as the mark of a Knight of Solamnia, he also wore a sleeveless leather tunic, a small crown embroidered in gold thread over the left breast.

"Good day, Sir Charl! How's the knight errranting trade these days?"

Sir Charl let a slightly pained expression cross his face, and took another sip from the small mug before him. "Well enough, Mistress Ammy. And forgive me correcting you, but it is not a trade, rather, a sacred calling to which I have pledged my life and my honor. I do not reckon my success in steel coin, but against the Code and the Measure."

"As you like it, Sir Charl. Need another bit of that?" Ammy jerked her thumb at his near-empty mug.

Sir Charl raised an eyebrow, partly in surprise, partly in suspicion, then inclined his head towards her. "You are most kind, Mistress. Yes, thank you."

Ammy whistled through her teeth to the young girl leaning against the bar, and held up two fingers. "No man should drink alone, Your Knightship," she said, as another look of pain came and went on Sir Charl's face.

Ammy slapped a large steel coin on the table; pretended not to notice the knight's covert glance at the serving girl as she picked up the coin, smiled, and left two mugs of the ale for which Solace's inns and taverns were renowned. The girl bobbed her head in a silent "thank you", and glided away.

What is it, thought Ammy, about red-haired barmaids in this town? And red-haired barmaids and men? Her teeth clenched slightly. If he could only have seen me twenty years ago, she thought, my hair was that curly, and that red, not bleached out from the sun and shot through with grey. And my--

Ammy shook her head, bringing herself back to the present.

"You interested in a job, Sir Charl?"

"If one stands in need of the services of a Solamnic Knight-errant, I find that I am free from any other immediate obligation."

"I presume that's a yes."

He sighed, one hand straying to his nearly empty purse. "Yeah. What's the gig?"

Fifteen years after the War of the Lance, the continent of Ansalon was largely at peace. Humans and their towns dominated the landscape.

The dwarves had slowly returned to Thorbardin, their ancestral home, turning up with regularity in market cities and in caravans, selling their much-prized metal and stone ware, and returning home. The elves had retreated even more completely to their forests and valleys, to Silvanesti and Qualinesti. Kender still abounded, it being well known to all the races that to kenderkind, "home" simply means the place one is from--never a place to stay.

A handful of gnome villages were scattered around the edge of human habitation, away from the increasingly crowded, and hazardous, Mount Nevermind. From time to time, a gnomish invention would appear in which a more lucid, i.e., human, mind would see useful potential, and be rendered into a device which was practical and not actually life-threatening. A number of human town and provinces had indeed taken the bold step of adopting and adapting the gnomish committee system to civil government. Results were uniformly calamitous, but the damage had been done. Sadly, all corrective measures are still being held in abeyance, pending the findings of the Committee to Abolish the Committees, which is, in turn, holding itself in abeyance.

But still in the wilds, on the fringes of human presence, on the trade routes, there was the occasional caravan or cabin attacked and looted by hobgoblin raiders or the lone ogre. Thus had come into being a new mission of the Knights of Solamnia -- the knight-errant. Although scorned by some as little more than common bodyguards, the knight-errant kept the high standard of honor and duty of all Solamnics, adhered to the Code and Measure, and was in all ways subject to Solamnic discipline. Although nominally attached to a particular fortress or keep, the knight-errant lived and worked on his own, in the town and villages of the land. Two features distinguished the knight-errant from the 'common bodyguard'. First, they were invested with authority to hear grievances and mete justice, in the absence of adequate civil authority -- not an uncommon circumstance in a land still recovering from the recent war. Second, they were forbidden from asking a fee for their services, being strictly charged to entrust themselves to the care of Paladine, and the generosity of their fellow man. The smallest compensation had to be accepted with gratitude, the most extravagant reward with humility. Further, a knight-errant who was free of any other commitment was obliged to render any aid requested of him. A knight-errant could find himself bound to helping an elderly woman with her washing in the morning, battling ogres in the evening, and receiving as reward anything from a hot meal to a chest of jewels.

Sir Charl had neither outstanding commitments nor purses full of coin weighing him down this day in Solace. Therefore, when Mistress Ammy approached him, he could not have refused her, and though he would never have admitted it, was grateful for the chance. He held up his mug in salute.

"Your health and long life, my liege lady," he toasted. He pronounced the ritual acceptance. "I am your faithful servant. And thanks be to Paladine." He drained the mug.

Sir Charl and Mistress Ammy met again at the inn for dinner, for which she paid, and for which he was grateful. As the new custom demanded, she gave him a small token -- in this case, a white handkerchief, which he tied around his wrist to symbolize his bondage to her service.

"Trade trip to Tarsis," she stated abruptly, after their meal was finished. "Small party. No merchandise on the way down. Two mules for me, one pack, one to ride. You and your horse. And one other, my old drinking buddy -- oh, here he is. Here, Falst, pull up a chair." Turning to the barmaid, she whistled through her teeth again, and held up three fingers.

Sir Charl scowled slightly. "Who's this?"

The heavy-set, ruddy-cheeked man smiled broadly. "Falst Falconer, Sir Knight, ranger and hunter, jack of all trades. At home in forest or city, as sharp with a crossbow as with a bargain. My pleasure to meet you sir, I have seen you around town for the better part of a year, and have heard well of you."

"My lady, I assure you that my sword is sufficient to protect both you and your commercial interests from here to Tarsis and back, without the aid of..."

"Hold your tongue, Sir Charl de Valnor, and I say that as your liege lady."

Sir Charl's lips pressed tight.

"I'm not slighting your ability or your honor by bringing Falst along. He knows the roads better than I do, and a damn sight more than you. I'm counting on him to hunt our meals. Remember I said we're traveling light, and that means emergency provisions only. Need a wagon to carry food enough, and that means another horse, and I don't have another horse, just my mules, and I don't want to sell my mules to buy a horse and wagon. And I doubt you're going to go off running down rabbits in that tin suit of yours. Furthermore, he's not my hireling, he's my friend and partner, business partner I mean, and he's along for me, not for you. Understood?"

"I beg my lady's pardon."

"Granted. You have no choice in the matter anyway, do you? You are honor-bound to my service."

A flash of irritation arced through the knight's eyes, followed by a blink of curiosity. "A question, with my lady's permission." Ammy nodded. "You've made this trip, and many others before, I know. You've traveled with him?" She nodded again. "Then why do you ask my aid this time?"

Ammy's eyes shifted guiltily, just for a moment, then settled on her handkerchief. "Oh, well, I suppose I just wanted the company of a knight...and it makes a great impression going through the Market Gate of Tarsis...and...maybe I had a hunch or something that there might be trouble out there this time..."

Sir Charl looked at her disapprovingly. "You used a Spell of Farsight or something, didn't you?" His tone of voice might have been accusing her of overfondness for dwarf spirits. "I know you're a magic-user. It's not a secret."

"All right, yes. Yes I did. Just a small one," she rejoined. "I know you knights don't like magic, even White Robes like me. But that's not your concern. What is your concern is that there may be danger on the roads this season, and that I've hired you to protect me."

The knight stiffened. "I am not in your hire, my lady, only in your service. Whether you choose to recompense me, or how much, depends on the generosity of your merchant's heart, and the kindness of your witch's soul."

"I think you just insulted your lady to her face, knight." She reflected momentarily. "That's good, though. Shows you've got some armor on the inside as well as the out."

Falst guffawed. He had been following the exchange silently, but with a broadening grin and twinkling eye. "Take care lad; I think she likes you! I hope your tent-flap latches."

--

The trio met on the outskirts of Solace at dawn the next day. Sir Charl rode a medium-sized white charger, Falst a horse which would have looked more at home ahead of a plow. Ammy presented a spectacle which caused the knight to bite his tongue. She rode a mule, in a saddle which might have had a previous existence as a favorite fireside chair. Stuffed red leather cushions formed not only arms, but a back, rising high enough for a rider to lean back in ease -- which she did, reins held loosely in one hand, as the trio set off down the road. Another mule followed the first on a tether, laden down with sacks, boxes, and an iron-strapped strongbox. "That's a decoy," she said. Holds my clothes. Maybe it's not the best. But who'd guess the money is stuffed in the saddle seat?"

The knight noted, silently, the bird perched on Falst's shoulder. Wicked talons gripped a thick leather pad tied over the shoulder of the ranger's tunic. A heavy leather glove hung at his belt. Although the bird's head was hooded, Sir Charl knew that the hidden beak was hooked, hard, and sharp as his sword. Of course, he thought, Falconer, not just a relic name at all, and certainly worthy of respect. He felt a keen anticipation of seeing the man and the bird working together.

The threesome set off down the road, the day's heat already palpable.

Many hours later, after one stop for water, and none for food, Falst halted the party. "There's a clearing on the left a dozen leagues or so down the road. I think we should make camp for the night and rest. The way gets harder after this."

"Sounds reasonable to me, Falst," said Ammy. Besides, I'm starving. Agree, Sir Charl?"

"I am your guardian, not your guide, my lady. But it seems reasonable to me."

"Aye then," said Falst. "I'll ride ahead a bit just to make sure we don't startle anyone. Or have anyone startle us. This area's been safe as any for years, though." He spurred his horse, and rode on a few leagues ahead of the others. In a few moments, even the two behind could see a small trail leading off the road -- and Falst held up a hand. Trotting back, he spoke softly. "I think I see someone in the clearing. Wait here, and be ready to turn." He cast a discreet, inquiring glance at the woman who wore white robes, discreetly, under more conventional outer garb.

She shook her head, puzzled. "Whatever it was, it wasn't this. Not now."

"Hmm." Falst's fingers nimbly loosened and removed the falcon's hood. Golden eyes blinked in the sudden light. The head swiveled quickly, looking keenly at the knight and the woman, at the master, and the sky. "Shh, shh, we'll see, my darling," whispered Falst. The hood went into a pocket, and he loosened up the crossbow that hung from the saddle.

Up the road, toward the clearing, slowing, observing. Stopping. His right arm flew up in the air -- the knight's hand went to his sword hilt -- and then, unexpectedly, his hand was a fist shaking in annoyance. Then it untensed and beckoned the others. Sir Charl's hand likewise relaxed. He could see the falcon flap its wings, and heard it utter a scream that sounded, astonishingly, contemptuous. Knight and merchant trotted on, Falst's eyes darting between them and the clearing.

"Nothing but a kender."

"Oh dear," sighed the knight. "Would that it were an ogre. I know how to deal with those."

Suddenly, an eerie wail poured over the clearing. The three rode closer and could see the diminutive person at a far edge of the clearing, facing into the trees and unaware of the eyes upon him.

"Is some monster attacking him?" asked the knight.

"I'm not sure," replied Falst.

Ammy studied the scene. At first glance, it looked indeed as if some bizarre, many-limbed creature was attacking the kender. At second glance, she thought that perhaps he had a hoopak broken into half a dozen pieces and stuffed in a leather pouch. But no -- the sticks seemed to be poking out of the bag everywhere, not from a single opening. And not even a handful of hoopaks could make a noise like that!

"Gods and monsters!" breathed Falst. "I think it's some kind of musical instrument!"

The horses and mules shuffled skittishly at the caterwauling rolling through the air, and the trio dismounted. After tying the beasts to trees, they walked toward the noisy kender.

"I don't wonder he hasn't heard us," said the knight. "They're supposed to have such keen ears."

"Look at him!" exclaimed Ammy. Even for a kender, his clothing was startling. He wore leggings of wide black and yellow vertical stripes, and a long shirt or vest that hung nearly to his knees. This garment began with the same motif of black and yellow stripes, then overlaid narrower stripes in half a dozen different colors. This in turn twisted and superimposed itself into a plaid, an eye-twisting, cross-hatched rainbow of colors, crossing and re-crossing, hues clashing gleefully and mercilessly. It could have been an accident that rolled off a loom designed by a gnome who had imbibed one more flagon of dwarven spirit than he should have. As it happened, this was precisely the case, although the fact was to remain unknown to all the parties in the clearing that day.

Finally, knotted into a flamboyant bow around the kender's topknot was a bright blue ribbon of a shade that somehow managed to clash with every other color in his outfit.

As the three humans stood staring at this spectacle, the noise subsided slightly, and the kender paused to take a deep breath: evidently to send more air rushing through his peculiar instrument. In mid-inhale, though, Sir Charl clapped his hands to his ears and bellowed "Enough!"

The little being spun around, astonished, almost dropping the thing cradled in his arms. "Well hi!" he exclaimed, a smile of delight splitting his face nearly in two. "Did you come out to listen to me play?" The falcon's short scream was the only response; Falst quickly replaced the hood. Without missing a beat, the kender continued: "I'm afraid I'm not very good at it yet. I've only had it a couple of days but that's because I only invented it a couple of days ago. Well, I kind of invented it, along with a gnome friend of mine --" three pairs of eyes rolled, squeezed shut as if in pain, or cast themselves skyward -- "but it was really my idea. I'll bet you didn't know kender could invent things did you? Oh, everyone knows we invented hoopaks and lockpicks but -- oh, my name's Cutpurse Barleyworm -- hey, where are you all going?"

Sir Charl faced Barleyworm. "My party and myself are camping here tonight. By ourselves. In privacy. Fare thee well, Barleyworm."

"Oh that's OK then!" cried Barleyworm, skipping along after them. "This clearing's plenty big enough for all of us to be here by ourselves together. You're travelers, aren't you? Have you come from Solace? Do you live in Solace? I've been to Solace lots of times. They have a really great jail in Solace, it's in a tree, I mean built right inside a tree, and the walls are wood not stone. No, really and truly! I've been inside it lots of times! Did you know all of Solace used to be up in the trees? That's what's called Solace Oldtown now, but I guess too many people came there that didn't want to live in trees, which I don't understand -- I mean why come to live in a place that's all in the trees and then decide you don't want to live in a tree after all? Or maybe they were running out of trees, but that's why Solace has houses and shops down on the ground just like everywhere else now, and that's Solace Newtown, and it's almost as big as Solace Oldtown -- but I guess you must know that if you've been there, so why did you need me to tell you that?"

"Sorry boys, no magic could have foreseen _this_," muttered Ammy.

"Tie him up well away from the animals, or the trip's already done," opined Falst.

Sir Charl sighed. It was inevitable. Little Barleyworm would accompany them every step of the way to Tarsis. It was the only way to ensure that his lady reach her destination with all her possessions intact. He composed his mind to dogged resignation, as he might to the problem of fleas under the armor. He just thought of how good it would feel when the little pest was gone.

Falst shut the falcon in a wire cage that unfolded from flatness, stored on the pack mule. He then spread a blanket on the grass as the shadows lengthened. From a basket he pulled out small bundles of chicken, beef, and spiced potatoes, all carefully wrapped in sheets of thin paper. "You know, I can't remember how many times I've told Tyler he could make a fortune selling his food like this all the time, for folks to take home. Won't do it."

"What's he say?" asked Ammy.

"He just stares at me and says 'But then they wouldn't be eating here.'" Falst shook his head. "Not more than one in a dozen of that Majere clan has the brains Reorx made for 'em. Blessings on 'em all, though, they're good folk."

So the four ate, the kender helping himself liberally, stuffing more food inside himself than seemed possible, especially considering that he kept up a running commentary throughout the meal: on this food, food he had eaten at other inns, food he had eaten in jail, other forest clearings he had eaten in, other journeys he had eaten on...

Finally he stopped to take a few deep breaths, and surveyed the darkening scene. Despite her better judgment, Ammy ventured a question. "Where did you come by that -- uh -- interesting tunic?" Privately, she thought that she might be able to sell coats like that to farmers for their scarecrows.

"Oh this? I won it as a prize at the big fair in Palanthas last week. Well, kind of won it. There was a game you could play, throwing eggs at a dummy dressed up like a city guard, but I think the dummy was magicked, because everyone's eggs fell short, and couldn't even get close to knocking off its hat to win the big prize, and after I threw a couple, I saw a real city guard walking by, and I thought maybe if I knock _his_ hat off I'd get something, and I did, with only one egg, too, right square in the back of his head, but he got very angry at me and at the lady who was running the game, and she got angry at me too, and she pulled this tunic out of a bin in her tent, told me I'd won it, and to take it and go away. Only she used some bad words that I wouldn't use in front of a lady or a knight, and here you are both, so I left the fair then -- "

"Did she give you that blue ribbon, too?" asked Ammy. The ribbon looked as if it might have adorned the cage of a prize chicken at the fair.

"No, funny thing about that. When I left the fair, I just kinda fell asleep on the side of the road, and the next morning when I woke up, there it was. I guess my topknot won first prize somewhere without me."

The three looked at each other, bewildered and bemused.

"But the next day I went back and that's when I met my old gnome friend. His name is--" Cutpurse hesitated. "-- well, everybody just calls him Whatnot, and he was there to try out his newest invention. It was supposed to be a Perfect Musical Instrument, because that's what his Life Quest was, and he'd had a whole bunch of problems with it, and a couple of accidents that did things to other gnomes that you probably don't want to know about right after eating, but sounded awfully interesting. But the two biggest problems were first, that gnomes don't really have much in the way of musical instruments of their own, so poor Whatnot didn't really know how to start. And second, the committee couldn't really tell him exactly what a Perfect Musical Instrument should look like or sound like, just that they'd know one when they saw it. And so he didn't really know how to finish either. But there was lots of stuff in between he could do. 'My boy,' he said to me, 'Anygnome can start a project at the beginning and finish it at the end. True genius starts in the middle and works outward in all directions,' which I kind of understand --"

Cutpurse was interrupted, this time by a loud roaring sound. In the gloom, he saw Mistress Ammy sprawled out on the grass, snoring; Falst an arm's breadth from her, eyes tight shut, mouth wide open. Even as he watched, Falst's hand reached out and found Ammy's, their fingers loosely intertwining. The knight, too, appeared to be sleeping, head fallen forward on his mailed chest, helmet at his side, arms and legs locked into a seated position by the meshed links.

"Maybe they were really tired," stated Cutpurse to the stars. "But how impolite to go to sleep like that and never even introduce themselves to me!" After a moment's consideration, he picked up the blanket on which they had eaten, shook off the crumbs, and spread it over Falst and Ammy. It was already too dark to see much, and Cutpurse decided he would have to wait for daylight to properly investigate and appreciate his new friends' possessions. Starlight twinkled on the knight's helmet, and in a moment was in the kender's hands. Ammy snored deeply again. I wonder, he thought, if someone were to fall asleep wearing a helmet, and snored, would it echo inside and wake him up? On went the helmet, and Cutpurse silently slipped under the blanket, between the man and the woman, under their joined arms. Not a bad pillow, he thought, there's a little padding inside. Now to see if I can snore like the lady...

If he did snore, he never knew it.

--

"Are you really a magician, Miss Ammy?" Cutpurse persisted. Dawn had seen the party, now four, get underway amidst belated introductions. The midmorning sun had, with the humans, endured the kender's non-stop barrage of questions regarding Sir Charl's armor, Falst's falcon, and Mistress Ammy's extraordinary saddle, her white robes, worn discreetly as if underclothing, her hair, her travels -- he was, indeed, quite smitten with her, and something akin to Solamnic chivalry stirred his blood.

"Only a little one," she replied. Before the kender could make an ill-advised and misunderstood comment on her size, she continued, "I mean I can do a few useful little spells, but I also do magic tricks. Not real magic. I like that kind better. Much more entertaining. And once you learn a trick, you don't have to keep studying and re-learning it over and over, like real magic." Cutpurse's eyes were begging. Before he could start talking again, she patted her mule's neck. "Jump up. You can't walk all day, anyway." He deftly swung up, facing her, sitting backward. Ammy reached into a pouch. "Now watch closely. Here. I have a steel coin. As you can see, it bears the strike of the city of Palanthas, which is what we use in our part of the world. But since we're going to Tarsis, it might be handy to have some Tarsisan money." She closed her hand into a fist, passed the other hand over it, opened the hand again. "And there you have a Tarsisan copper!" Turning her hand over, she dropped the copper coin into the kender's lap. Eyes and mouth agape, he scrutinized the coin; poked it, bit it, held it up to the sunlight. Only Falst, riding behind, saw Ammy's hand slip discreetly back to the pouch and return something to it. "You can keep it. It's real."

Sir Charl, watching out of the corner of one eye, said "Bravo, my lady. Well done."

"Now you see boys, to do that with real magic, I'd have to devote years of study to nothing else, not to mention risking my neck on some damfool testing."

"My lady has never taken the test?"

"You know of that do you? No, no, no. Failure is death, as you well know, then. Just for the privilege of sitting with those proud so-and-so's at the High Council? They can keep it. I prefer having a few useful little spells and keeping my humility before the gods. Pride was the ruination of the High Sorcerers in the past, destroyed Istar and brought down the Cataclysm. Almost ruined a certain order of knighthood as well, isn't that right, Sir Charl?"

The knight bowed his head. "Humility is one of the emblems of a _true_ knight, my lady," he stressed.

Falst guffawed. "That's as good a trick as one of Ammy's, Sir Knight -- taking pride in your humility!"

Sir Charl's face purpled, but then grew pensive.

"But I much prefer another kind of magic," said Ammy. "The magic of turning four steel coins to eight, using nothing but a Tarsisan winecup!"

"When will you do that one, Miss Ammy?" asked Cutpurse.

"I mean trade, Barleycorn. "Barleyworm!" Buy low, sell high. Do it right, and everyone gets what they want. And what they need."

"If this is a trade journey, why aren't you taking anything to Tarsis?"

"Well, I usually do, but right now there's nothing in Solace that I can take. I'd like to take a dozen barrels of ale this time of year, but it's been so hot, ale is scarce, and more expensive than usual. That means it costs too much for me to buy, even if I could get that much. And I don't know that I could sell it for enough in Tarsis to make my profit, and pay off Falst and my knight." She turned her head toward Falst. "Falst, be a dear and start scaring us up some lunch."

Falst grinned and winked, and unhooded the falcon, again on his shoulder. He spoke softly to the bird, took it onto his gloved hand, cast it into the air. Within an hour, half a dozen grey doves and a fat hare hung from Falst's saddle. The party made a brief camp to eat, again to Cutpurse's interminable, and largely one-sided conversation: this time covering magic, trade, and falcons. Only twice did Falst have to retrieve the falcon's hood from the kender's fingers. When Cutpurse asked Ammy where all the steel was that she was going to buy Tarsisan goblets with -- "There's nothing in your pouches or satchel except the trick coin you turned into a copper for me -- " she got them moving again.

Just to relieve the monotony of his chatter, Cutpurse chose to walk alongside and practice his peculiar musical instrument.

By the time they stopped for the night, Falst's falcon had brought down two more doves and a pheasant, and Sir Charl had re-assessed the likeness of the kender's presence from fleas under the armor to hornets. The only saving grace of his attempted playing was that it left him too breathless to talk.

True, thought the knight, very occasionally a few notes would come together in a semblance of a proper musical phrase, and then, the instrument did have a pleasing voice, albeit somewhat jarring. Somehow it managed to play harmonies with itself, like a choir. Once, during a (relatively) long silent spell, the knight imagined the instrument playing one of the Solamnic hymns.

"How did you come by that contraption, Barleyworm?" Sir Charl asked suddenly, after dinner was finished.

"That's right, I never finished telling you about that last night -- you all fell asleep while I was speaking," was the reproachful response. "Anyway, my gnome friend Whatnot had brought his Ultimate Musical Instrument on the last day of the Spring Fair in Palanthas to play it for an audience, and see if everyone liked it enough to call it Ultimate. It was in two horse-drawn wagons, -- "That was expectable," murmured Ammy. -- one wagon held a big copper kettle filled with water on top, and a fireplace underneath, so steam came out, then a long pipe went to the instrument itself in the other wagon. Now that was something to see! Whatnot had decided that trumpets were a good place to start, because most everyone he talked to liked trumpets, and armies use them to order soldiers around, so they're useful, too, and I guess a gnome would think that's important -- "This does have something to do with your bag of sticks, doesn't it?" interjected Sir Charl. -- Yes, yes, I'm getting to it -- so he thought that if you could play a couple dozen trumpets all at once, it would make lots of people happy all at once, and armies could give all different orders at once, so a couple dozen trumpets of all different sizes went with the playing end down into a boxy place Whatnot called the manyhole, and a long row of keys would open up what he called a 'monodirectional gaseous vapor release element', so that meant that when you pressed a key, steam would go through one of trumpets and play a note. Each trumpet could only play one note, did I say that? -- but pressing all different keys in the right order would play a tune, and you could even play different notes at the same time. So he fired up the kettle and pretty soon steam was coming through. Whatnot started playing on the keys, and it sounded really good. Then other people started playing it too, and a human who said he'd played something with keys like that before tried it, and he was amazing! Well, the first problem was that all that steam coming out of the trumpets was turning back into water, and the big tall trumpets that stood straight up were starting to gurgle like you snoring, Miss Ammy, and the short skinny ones that stood straight out over the keys were dripping hot water on whoever tried to play. So Whatnot shooed everybody away, and started sketching diagrams in the dirt that would put the trumpets so the water would drain out from all of them, but not over the keys, and I got interested talking to all the people and looking at their stuff, and after a while, I had just started to wonder what happened to all the steam when nobody was playing the trumpets. Well right about then the whole thing started making a noise like an army marching with those big drums pounding, and next thing, both wagons went BOOM!, both together, and Whatnot was flying through the air, screaming something about a relief valve, and trumpets were flying every which way, and one shot right up a cow's -- well, I'll just say I've never seen a cow jump that high before in my life -- and city guards were running around looking for someone to put in jail, so I kind of hid for a while, then I found Whatnot, and I told him I thought he was on the right track, but it seemed silly having to rebuild his Ultimate Instrument every time you wanted to play it. 'Quite right, my boy,' he said. 'Not quite there yet.'

"So I said, How about the same thing, but small enough you can carry it around by yourself without two wagons? And he looked down his nose at me -- which was quite a trick since he's even smaller than I am -- and said that was an idea long ago considered and discarded. But I wandered around a bit then, and at one tent there was a man playing a little wooden pipe, and a snake came up out of a basket when he played, but when I got up close, I could see it wasn't a real snake at all, it was just a shiny silk sleeve over something that looked like a snake. And when I told the man that someone had stolen his snake and put a fake one in his basket, he got real mad at me and told me to away, so I did, and a lot of other people who'd been throwing coins at him went away too. But around the back of his tent there were a bunch more pipes of all different sizes that he wasn't using anymore, so I brought those back to Whatnot. And I said, All we need now is a manyhole that's kender-sized. Well, just then, somebody dropped an empty wineskin near us -- at least it was empty after we finished drinking the wine -- and Whatnot looked at it kind of funny, and he started cutting and tying, and he put one of those mono-whatever valves in the neck of the wineskin so you can blow air into it, and it all goes out the pipes, and not back out in your face, which is good because it's starting to smell pretty bad now. And I put corks in the holes of some of the pipes so they all play different notes and one of them is just to play the tune like the snake man, and I call it a pipeskin since it's not a wineskin any more."

Once again, a snore interrupted him. "Hmph! Humans really are short on manners. I hope they heard most of that. I hate having to repeat myself."

--

The travelers rose at dawn and headed on, Barleyworm alternately running ahead or alongside, sporadically jumping up to ride one of the mules, or horseback with Falst. His monologue was interrupted by the occasional silent spell, during which the humans inventoried their belongings and retrieved anything which might have "dropped in the road". This would then be followed by another attempt to coax music out of the pipeskin.

"I think part of the problem," he puffed, clambering up into Ammy's saddle, "is that I don't really know any songs to work with. It's like Whatnot starting his project in the middle."

"You must know your Trailsong," called Falst. "I thought every kender knew that."

"That's the problem, you see. I know the words of course, but kender usually make up a different melody every time. So it doesn't get boring, you see. And to fit the occasion. Sometimes you want it to sound happy, sometimes you want it sad, other times kind of slow and tired, like at the end of the day."

"You guys must have some interesting sing-alongs," mused Falst.

"Barleyworm!" barked Sir Charl. "Over here." The kender slipped off the mule, trotted alongside the knight. "Up." Barleyworm gasped. Twice before his attempts to scramble up on the charger had been rebuffed; though he was sure Sir Charl had not meant actually to push him off. Now the knight's hand extended downward; Barleyworm grabbed hold, pulled himself up, straddled the horse's neck, backwards, looked solemnly into the stern face of a Knight of Solamnia.

"Barleyworm, have you ever heard of _The Song of Huma_? It goes like this -- _dum-DAH...dum-du-DAH...da-deeee...da-DUM_..."

By dusk, camp set, Barleyworm was offering a creditable rendition of the ancient hymn.

"Thought as much," whispered Sir Charl to Falst. "Picks up a tune as cleanly as he picks a pocket."

"Doesn't sound half bad at that. Go ahead, stretch out, I'll take first watch."

"Right. But for the love of Paladine, don't let him be playing that thing in the middle of the night."

The fourth day began, and immediately promised to be hotter than those before. No clouds marred the sky, and their route began to descend out of the higher hills, where at least the nights had been seasonably cool.

They broke a little after midday, at a shallow pool. "Look there, said Falst. "See that rock that looks like a head? It should be almost covered this time of year. You usually don't see the chin, even in mid-summer."

As their ride resumed, Sir Charl fell back slightly, abreast of Ammy, bowed his head to her: "If it please my lady . . . ." She smiled, and gestured a polite assent with her hand. Sir Charl picked up the thread of a conversation begun, but not ended, over their brief lunch. "At the risk of sounding like our kender friend, I assert still that evil is called evil because it is evil. I cannot accept what you seem to aver, that good and evil -- or neutrality -- are no more than sides to choose, as one might choose in a game of draughts or chess."

"I'm not sure I do aver that, Sir Charl. I merely offer that as one way of looking at things. And I believe we do agree on the importance of the balance."

"Yes. However, balance is necessary to the continued existence of the world itself, which is a good. Existence and creativity are functions of goodness. Evil is essentially destructive, to itself and to others. 'Evil turns on itself' is a truism."

"But good also has turned on itself. Consider the centuries of war among the elves, who are good in essence, but who kill each other over how to be good. I spoke the other day about pride, and it's that kind of pride, in one's own goodness, that's as evil and destructive as anything churned up out of the Abyss. Elves and Solamnics both have learned that. And even soldiers of the Dark Queen, in the last war, were known to exhibit courage and even a certain measure of honor, before defeat found them.

The knight frowned. "But such virtues were employed only as tools to further an ultimately evil end. Whereas we pursue virtue not for a particular end, but because it is right, for its own sake. And though knight or elf may succumb to pride, I think we know in our hearts that it is a wrong, and a failing."

"Well said. Let me ask this then. You are charged with meting justice. Is justice, and the pursuit of justice, something good?"

"Without a doubt, my lady."

"And wouldn't proper administration of justice require absolute impartiality on your part, between the parties?"

"I'm afraid my lady is setting up a magic trick with words as clever as changing a steel coin to a copper . . . but yes."

"And if a follower of the Dark Gods and a follower of Paladine came to you to resolve a dispute -- if you found that the follower of evil was in the right, you would judge in his favor, even over a fellow Solamnic?"

"That would be my bounden and sacred duty, my lady."

"So, by assuming the mantle of neutrality, and favoring evil, justice would be served, and good would result?"

"It sounds foolish stated that way, but yes." He frowned, almost scowled. Then a sheepish grin broke across his face. "I suppose it all balances out in the end, doesn't it?"

The amused, almost sly look vanished abruptly from Ammy's face. She regarded him gravely. "In your travels, Sir Charl, what do people say about these times? That evil seems far away? Even defeated?"

The knight's face resumed it's thoughtful mien. "Most avoid the topic entirely, not wishing to bring down ill fortune by questioning good fortune. Others repeat gossip of dark forces gathering at the far ends of the world, waiting for human and elven kind to grow complacent and soft, when they will sweep down like wolves on fat sheep. I recall one fisherman who swore that, far out at sea, he had seen a minotaur ship accompanied by a red dragon. Others say that there may indeed may be less evil in the world, but less goodness, as well."

Ammy's head nodded back and forth slowly, as if in confirmation of a suspicion. "Less evil, less good. And the balances are tipped by smaller and smaller weights. Even the least things become critically important."

Barleyworm, who had been rummaging through the hind mule's pack, perked up at this. "That's right, Miss Ammy, that's right! That's an old kender saying, you know, that even the biggest things are nothing but lots of little things put together, so that even the littlest things are important."

"Empty your pouches back into the saddlebags now, Cutpurse."

A wounded expression on his face, Barleyworm began to comply. "Wait a minute! This fork is mine. I mean really mine! I had it before you invited me along on your trip."

Ammy thought the fork looked remarkably like the ones used at the Old Blacksmith Inn. A wry grin smeared her mouth. "Are you sure it's yours? I'm certain I had one just like it."

Falst trotted up beside her. "You know, of all the beings on Krynn, I think kender are the only ones who've never taken to beating the hell out of each other for sport."

"Gnomes?"

"They call it Research and Development."

Falst trotted ahead, and returned. "We'll stop soon. There's a bridge ahead, about two leagues. We won't get much farther today anyway, and I know we're still in safe territory on this side."

They made up camp in a clearing about fifty paces back from the bridge. The sun was still hovering over a nameless, nondescript hill.

"Here, give me the waterskins," said Falst. "I'll fill them in the river. Ammy passed him the two skins, one still partly filled, and walked with him, slowly, toward the bridge. "Gods and monsters, look at that. Just like the pool. Low as midsummer." He sighed profoundly, looked at Ammy. "What do you think?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It could be dark forces at work, but -- I just don't know. It seems such a petty thing in some ways -- very profound in others. Could be just a warm spell. Could be all nature spinning out of control. Out of balance . . . ."

Falst's arm reached over her shoulders, pulled her close for a moment. "I'll go ahead and get us some water while it's still there, love."

"No. Stop," she whispered. "Wait. I'm feeling something." She closed her eyes in concentration, called to mind the elusive words of magic. In her mind's eye, she saw -- something. Eyes. Teeth. Darkness and death. She almost felt a palpable hand push her backwards. "This is it, I'm sure this is it, the trouble. This side. No, not across. Down, down there, maybe. Maybe the bridge collapsing? No, Something's down there, waiting." She opened her eyes. "Best I can do. But I'm pretty damn sure."

Falst looked over the edge of the drop, cautiously. "Don't see nothing." He twisted his head to look at the bird on his shoulder. "Quick job, dearie. Scout it out." He pulled the hood of, showed the bird a pellet of dried meat, and tossed it into the gorge. "Go get it, beautiful!" He tossed the falcon skyward, and the bird chased the pellet down toward the water.

A moment later, the falcon screamed in anger, darted into the air, up and away from her master. She landed on a rocky outcropping on the far side of the bridge, screaming indignantly. Falst waved a few signals, whistled, even tossed another pellet in the air to land beside himself. The bird stood fast, and continued her aggrieved squawling.

"You're right, love, something mean and ugly is down there. There's not much that'll spook her like that. Ogre maybe? Good call, bringing the knight. He stepped out onto the bridge, just a few paces, crossbow cocked and quarrel slotted. "I see a cave -- I think it's a cave -- hard to tell from this angle." Another few paces. "Get ready to go run behind the knight, love. Something moving --" He raised the crossbow, sighted the cave mouth. "What the -- Hah!" The crossbow cracked like a whip, and the quarrel ripped downward. "Damnation!" Falst hissed as the quarrel shattered harmlessly on a rock. "Damnation of the Abyss!" He spat over the side of the bridge. "A troll!"

The troll dove back into its cave as the missile flashed in the dying light, and stood there, glaring outward. An angry hiss escaped through its teeth, teeth that resembled bronze nails in both color and shape. In stature slightly shorter than an average human, its thick neck and barrel torso bespoke its kinship to the ogres. Thick upper arms dwindled down to spindly forearms and slender fingers which rivaled a kender's for dexterity. Rubbery skin was the color of the mud it lived in.

Like many of its kin, it had discovered that bridges such as this were an opportune place to lurk in wait for unwary travelers. It was that intelligent at least, and would remember that the stout human it had just seen had shot at it. That meant, hide from that one, watch for others. It's thought processes were not much more sophisticated. It's concept of time extended to only two other points than _now_. Those were when it had last eaten and looted -- _too long ago _-- and when it next would -- _not soon enough_.

One other vague recollection glimmered in its mind: when it had last seen another of its kind. Trolls, their population never large, rarely encounter one another. A chance meeting usually meant a fight, brutal and short, lasting until one could either run away, or was dead. Even less frequently a female would appear, to tease and taunt a male until it raced out to drive her away. The female, slightly larger and marginally more intelligent, would then assault the male in a mating that was all but indistinguishable from any other troll brawl. The male was then left, frequently injured, sometimes dying, or dead. In all the history of Krynn, no creature had ever loved a troll, not even another troll.

Sir Charl looked into the gorge contemptuously. "A troll? I've never fought one before, truthfully. I'd rather not dirty my blade with its blood. A solid kick in the head should -- "

Falst scratched his head. "Not so fast, knight. It's not that simple. Barleyworm, come with me." At the bridge, Falst put on his sternest face. "Now listen. I want you to do something. But you must do exactly as I say. I wouldn't want even a kender to end up as troll food. What you're going to do is, climb down this support of the bridge, about halfway, just so you can see the cave that thing is in. Should still be light enough for you to see, especially with your eyes. When you can tell how big the cave mouth is, and how deep, if you can, come on back up. Do not go down and try to make friends with it or pick its pockets. I'll be up here with my crossbow. I'm pretty sure it won't come out as long as it can see me. But if it does, get right back up as fast as you can. That thing can move -- and climb -- almost as fast as you. You do anything else and -- and you might endanger Mistress Ammy."

Falst knew that very few threats or pleas could dissuade a kender from mischief, but he knew he struck a nerve with that. The kender drew himself up, cast a noble gaze in Ammy's direction, and assumed the dignity of a Solamnic Knight. "I understand, Mr Falst. For Mistress Ammy, of course. Shall I do it now?"

"Now."

Barleyworm dropped over the side. His eyes were bright with the prospect of scrambling down a precipitous height, risking a possibly fatal drop, to face a deadly monster, all to serve Mistress Ammy.

He hung from the crosspieces and braces, clambered down, and was looking at the cave mouth from extraordinarily close range. A muddy-colored face poked out into visibility, stared at the kender. A hand reached out and up, and in very crude Common it hissed, "Give me your shoes . . ."

"Don't think so!"

A few moments later, Cutpurse popped back over the top of the bridge. "Do you need me to do it again?"

Back in the clearing, Falst said, "Show us how big the cave mouth is, Barleyworm."

Stretching his arms wide, he said, "Just about this wide," and putting his hands at his chest, "And this high. And about as deep as your horse is long, Sir Charl."

"Well, we're not doing anything tonight. It's dark already, anyway. No offence to your skill, Sir Charl, but I don't think you can take him." The knight scowled, but continued to listen. "That thing will go to ground in the back of its cave, beyond your sword reach. If you get inside, it's too narrow to get a good swing, and it's strong enough to pull it right out of your hand. If you get that far. You slip in the mud in those chain-mail long-johns, and you'll be breathing the river before you know it."

"So we lure it out first."

"Right. And I can put a quarrel through it from a safe distance then."

Ammy said, "I don't suppose we can just slip by it? If you stay in sight with the crossbow, it'll stay inside, you said. Do that, and away we go."

Falst grimaced thoughtfully. "I doubt we could get the animals within a dozen paces of the bridge, or control them if we could. A falcon spooked, you think mules are going to behave? Besides, that just dodges the problem. It's still there on the way back, and waiting for someone who isn't paying attention." He scowled. "I'd hate to see what kind of bones are in that cave already. It's been there maybe, two years? We didn't make this trip last year. Besides," Falst growled, looking around, "these are my hills. My home. That thing doesn't deserve much to live at all -- vicious as an ogre, cowardly as a hobgoblin, dirty as a gully dwarf -- I'll dance with the Dark Queen before I let it live here."

The night passed fitfully. Only Ammy slept soundly, as knight and ranger alternately stood watch and lay with eyes closed, dozing lightly, starting awake when the falcon across the valley occasionally screamed -- in anger, fear, or warning, could not be told. Barleyworm sat up, too excited at the prospect of the morning's adventure, harrying the men with stories of his own previous adventures, bridges he had seen, bridges he had fallen from or been thrown off, unpleasant creatures he had fought, until, sometime in the pre-dawn hours, he abruptly stated: "I think I'm getting sleepy --" and promptly keeled over where he sat, right across Miss Ammy's feet.

--

"Falst, does your falcon have a name?" were the kender's first words, as the sun rose.

"Of course, but it's a secret. Anyone else knows it, he might be able to talk to her like I do, and steal her away. Not likely though, I've raised her from a hatchling. Anyone else who tried to handle her would probably lose fingers or eyes." This much was true. Sitting up, he glanced over at Ammy, who was brushing off the night. His eyes twinkled, and a shade too loudly he continued. "Yep, I brought her home as an egg. Didn't have time myself, so I had Mistress Ammy sit on it for a month to hatch it out."

The kender's eyes widened. "Really? Do falcon eggs have extra thick shells? I mean, I can just imagine if Miss Ammy sat on a plain old hen's egg --" He got no further. As a kender, he immediately recognized that look in a human's eye, and was on his feet and well on his way to the trees before she had taken two steps. Falst was close behind, convulsed with laughter, tears leaking onto his cheeks.

Remarkable, thought Sir Charl. He can climb a tree nearly as well as a kender.

"It is told in our records," began the knight, "that the dark legions tried using trolls in their armies in the late wars." He had helped smooth over the morning's earlier misunderstandings, and was now drawing the others' focus to the task ahead.

"And?" queried Falst.

"Almost useless. It took too much manpower, physical and magical as well, to get them into the field, and once a battle started, they were as likely to turn on each other, or just run away. The only use they ever found for them was to disguise them as human long enough to smuggle them behind enemy lines and turn them loose. Created a little havoc, killed some people, then disappeared.

"So how do we draw out a creature that knows we're here, and probably understands it's in danger? It already knows you by sight, Falst. And you're probably right that we can't get the animals near enough the bridge to use as a lure."

Falst frowned in concentration. "I suppose it'd shy off of a knight on horseback as well."

Ammy chimed in. "Don't look at me, boys; I'm too old to be troll bait."

As if on cue, six eyes swiveled toward Cutpurse Barleyworm. His face broke into a brightness rivaling the dawn's. "Me?"

"Now you're sure you understand?" prodded Falst.

"Yes, yes. I'm going to run out on the bridge, and this time try to get him to come after me."

"Right. Jump up and down, wave your arms, hang over the side, anything to get it to try and come after you."

"And when he's out into the river --"

"How far?"

"About halfway --I run all the way over the other side, and that's my signal that he's out where you can get a clear shot at him, that's simple, Falst!"

"And?"

"Oh, keep making lots of noise to be sure he doesn't hear you until it's too late."

"Just like that, remember. I won't be able to see it at all until you're on the other side and I stand up."

"Yes, yes, can I do it now?"

"Let me get hidden first. Sir Charl, you of course will stay here to protect your liege lady in case anything goes wrong."

"Of course."

Well done, thought Ammy. Keeping my knight out of the way without telling him he's not needed for this. Though Charlie must realize that himself; hope he's grateful that Falst let him save face.

The kender had already run out on to the bridge, and was throwing rocks at the cave mouth. "Hey, hello down there! Anybody home? Maid service!"

The troll's face popped from the cave's entrance. It stared at the little being above -- it wasn't the dangerous human -- it recognized that much. It's sluggish mind churned, then, alarmed, it looked up, around, side to side. It didn't see the dangerous creature. It hissed with pleasure at the prospect of assailing the odd, noisy creature up there, plundering its clothes and bags, feeding on its soft flesh.

"Trolls everywhere think kender are delicious!" Barleyworm was dangling off the edge of the bridge, holding on with both hands, feet kicking enticingly. He instinctively began tossing verbal barbs at the troll. He wasn't sure the creature understood, but a good taunt is as irresistible to a kender as a locked door.

"Yoo-hoo, troll! Are you as stupid as you are ugly? Aren't you hungry for me, or do you eat that mud you sleep in? I know what happened to you -- you fell off the top of Mount Ugly and hit every rock on the way down! Yeah, that's it, come on, right out into the water . . . ."

Oh, gods and monsters, thought Falst, just tell the thing to start looking around, why don't you. He huddled down further behind the tarbean bush that was his cover.

"Don't let the water wash all the dirt away, you'll disappear!" Barleyworm pulled himself back up onto the bridge.

The troll stopped, waist deep in the water. Another memory glimmered -- grabbing for a fish, feeling the hunger, then . . . slipping . . . head in the water . . . water in the head. No breathe. It hesitated, took another two steps forward. Being in the water too long was making it nervous, and it thought of its cave. But the food was still up there, being very noisy. One more step forward.

Halfway, thought Barleyworm. "Come on oatmeal-brains, meet me over here for breakfast!" The kender began dancing and shouting. The troll was torn between urges, for pleasure, for safety. Food kept moving away. Cave was closer. It took a step backwards, and Barleyworm ran back out on to the bridge.

Falst resisted looking over the bush, lest he give himself away. He could just see the kender's ridiculously adorned topknot, and after a moment, understood what was happening.

"Hello-oo Mr. Troll! Come to the ball with me!" The troll still hesitated. The inspiration of desperation struck, and Barleyworm drew his pipeskin from a pouch. "Hey, I bet you can't do this!" And he began playing the only tune he knew, the _Song of Huma_. The effect was riveting. The troll stood straight, stared at the little creature above, ears twitching forward. It stepped forward -- two steps, and Barleyworm made his way to the end of the bridge, and solid ground.

At the camp, Sir Charl wasn't sure what was happening. He merely buried his face in his hands, and uttered a brief prayer to Paladine that he wasn't guilty of abetting some bizarre kender sacrilege.

Sure now of the kender's position, Falst rose from his concealment. The troll stood deep in the water, almost to its chest.

Well done, Barleyworm, thought Falst. He sighted in on the troll, middle of its back, almost unconsciously feeling the light breeze, allowing for it, visualizing angles and distance. Won't get a second shot, he thought. The troll's arms were raised, reaching toward the kender. Falst gritted his teeth as his finger curled around the trigger. Shooting the creature in the back didn't bother him, but he faltered at the sight of arms up in seeming surrender, troll or not. Only for a moment though. Finger pulled smoothly, and a crack as of a whip echoed across the gorge. Falst's quarrel sang true through the air, and buried itself deep in the troll's back. It bleated a short cry of pain, and toppled backwards into the water. A single arm raised up from the water, waved vaguely in the direction of the kender, and fell back.

The _Song of Huma_ faded away.

"Hah, well done lad!" exclaimed Falst, clapping Barleyworm on the back. "Come on, let's get moving, there's a village ahead we can reach today, eat in an inn, and even sleep there. Here, girl, come to Papa --" The falcon darted down, landed smoothly on Falst's shoulder, nuzzled her head against his cheek, and burst into a series of scolding cries.

"Hey Barleymalt! 'Barleyworm'! Scramble down into that cave and see if there's anything interesting. Falst says those things hoard loot like a dragon."

The kender swung down, delighted at the prospect of sorting through a pile of treasure, no matter what it might be, or where from. "Piles of shoes! you want any?"

"No!" Three voices chorused.

"Toss 'em in the river, called Falst. "Clear it out. I don't want anything of that thing's left in there. Keep an eye out for steel, or anything valuable, though."

Shoes came flying out, splashing into the water. Some bones followed, including a skull. "Human?" asked Ammy. "Don't know. Don't want to know," replied Falst.

"Hey, here's some good stuff! Hold on, I think I can carry it all at once . . ."

Barleyworm climbed back up with one arm, the other clasped around an assortment of objects. "Here's a book."

"Let me see that." Ammy picked it up, noted the hard wooden covers, cryptic marks incised. "I think it's a spellbook." Gingerly touching it, she stated, "I don't feel any protection spells on it." Carefully, she lifted the cover, which fell off in her hand. She didn't even try turning a page. Paper came up in a soggy lump between her fingers. "Trash. Completely rotten. Figures." What had once been a valuable spellbook followed the shoes into the river.

"Here, Sir Charl."

The knight examined a well-rusted piece of metal. "Half a sword. Solamnic insignia on the hilt. No use at all. A shame." The metal went into the water.

The kender produced a few rings and pieces of jewelry. "Gold. Pretty, but not terribly valuable, I suppose. Do you think I could sell these in Tarsis, Miss Ammy?"

She smiled. "Pack'em up and let's get going, an we'll see." The four and their animals finally crossed the bridge, and settled in for a day's ride.

Only Cutpurse Barleyworm turned before continuing, stood with toes jutting out over the crumbling edge of the bluff, and stared for a few moments at the spot where the troll stood, transfixed by the music, transfixed by the quarrel. He liked my music, thought Barleyworm. He wasn't sure what the funny feeling inside him was.

Sir Charl fell back, rode abreast of Ammy. "Well? We killed a troll. Is killing evil? A necessary evil, sometime, but still evil? Or is it good to kill an evil thing? Does it somehow upset the balance, and yield even more evil?"

Mistress Ammy looked to the sky. "Only Paladine knows."

--

Many leagues to the north, in the city of Palanthas, a remarkable individual sat in a vast library: he looked as if he might have been a work of carven marble, cool and white, ageless and passionless, as the library itself. For uncounted years he had sat there, writing, writing, recording the history of Krynn. He paused for a moment, looked back over the words he had just put to paper. As much as a face so impassive could, his face registered surprise -- an eyebrow twitched slightly. For the first time in the history of Krynn, someone had taken pity on a troll.

He paused a moment more, and with the feather end of his quill pen, brushed a smallish set of scales which sat on his desk. Soft whispers of good, of evil, brushed the simple device. The scale arm swung back and forth slightly, ever so slightly, stopped with the delicate silver pointer neatly in the middle again.

"Hrmph," he observed, and resumed his writing.

Outside, a cool spring rain began to fall.


End file.
